Quell
by WaichiMakkura
Summary: Jumba is put on trial for murders he committed as a child, and his Ohana learns alot more about him. Jumba/Pleakley
1. Chapter 1

**Quell**

**(A/N: My first Lilo and Stitch fan-fiction. I'm placing this story under the "M" category for future descriptions of violence and possible adult-situations. This is mainly a Jumba/Pleakley story, but other characters may take the spotlight from time to time. I own nothing, except my imagination.)**

_Lips moved in quiet murmurs, soothing maternal tones. They didn't quite belong to him, but he felt as though he saw that mouth every time he looked at himself in a mirror. The image changed, replaced by a mouth that was much thinner, devoid of fine Quelta-Quanian fuzz. The motherly tone remained, though the voice belonged to someone quite different._

_Sharp sound barreled through the dark, red wetness and charred, black carbon painted the area. A slim hand curling post-mortem, poking out from underneath rubble. The warm tone continued on, though the voice had been silenced. A child's bellow of rage echoed around the blood and soot-coated walls._

All four of Jumba's eyes snapped open at once, he tensed his body, and he was brought back to earth as he stared up at the plastered ceiling of the bedroom he shared with Pleakley. He was not unfamiliar with nightmares, but this was the first one that had involved any member of the Ohana.

He heard a muffled sleepy sound from the bed below as the Plorginarian shifted. Jumba wondered if he had cried out in his sleep. The thought was humiliating, and he clenched his jaw. The genius scowled at the ceiling and crossed his arms, willing himself back to sleep.

The following week passed by normally. At least, normally for the Ohana. Lilo and 626 were joined at the hip, doing everything together and occasionally coming to Jumba for help. Nani oozed stress and weariness, balancing the bills, diffusing arguments, and trying to maintain a relationship with David. Pleakley tried to show off his earth knowledge and played the part of a chipper housewife.

If Jumba seemed quieter than usual, no one noticed it. He spoke only when spoken to, and spent a lot of time silently-observing the other members of the household, or tinkering away in his lab. He watched them all, absorbed in the hustle and bustle of daily life, while he was unable to stop himself from thinking.

He didn't want to think. He wanted to be able to bury himself in his projects, or in the illusion of family normalcy. But the nightmares wouldn't go away, and his mind wouldn't leave him in peace.

Finally there came a day when Pleakley was a little too pushy, and Jumba was a little too stubborn. The Plorg had sashayed up to Jumba's side in a neon-orange tube-top and a beaded bikini wrap, both hand-sewn, no doubt. The smaller alien then proceeded to cling girlishly to his arm while sweetly-insisting that the large scientist accompany the family to a relaxing day at the beach.

Jumba lifted his grabbed arm up high, almost casually, and watched Pleakley yelp and kick his three legs in the empty air before letting go and falling in an undignified heap on the floor.

"I do not want to be relaxing." the Quelt said calmly, refocusing his attentions back onto the device he had been toying with. A day at the beach sounded anything but relaxing to him right now. Sitting around, watching the others playing with reckless abandon in the water, building sand castles. It left far too much un-focus, too much opportunity for his mind to be drifting into something unpleasant.

Pleakley gathered up his bruised pride, and whatever qualified as a Plorgonarian backside, and fixed Jumba with an incredulous glare.

"What's your problem?!" he shrilled in a high voice, one that contrasted sharply with the low, flirtatious one he had used in an attempt to coax his friend seconds earlier.

"Is no problem. I simply do not want to be going anywhere." Jumba replied, making some small adjustments.

"Well you could have just said so! Instead of…of…Man-handling me!"

Jumba scoffed at this.

"There was no man-handling." the scientist's voice raised an octave as he turned in his chair to look at the smaller male and shook his head for emphasis.

"Yeah? Well whatever you want to call it, I have bruises." Pleakley huffed and crossed his arms.

The Quelt simply scowled and turned back to his worktable, having nothing to say to this.

"You're not even going to apologize are you?" Pleakley said flatly, his eye narrowed.

"Sorry. Am forgetting what delicate _flower_ little one is." Jumba didn't turn back to look at the other as he said this, but raised both hands in the air and wiggled his fingers in mock gesture. He sounded a lot more cross than apologetic.

"Oh! Well excuse me for not being a mountain of muscle!" The Plorg snapped, the beads on his wrap jingling as he tried popping his hip to one side in imitation of an angry woman.

"You could easily have saved yourself fall. I have seen you climb up my arm many times before without problem. Am not feeling bad for you. Do not be treating me like bully!" Jumba insisted.

"Well…I'm not wearing pants. That would have been very un-ladylike of me." Pleakley confessed, and flushed with embarrassment.

Jumba just stared at him, until a drawn-out snort fought it's way through his nose, and finally he burst out laughing. Pleakley looked offended and stalked out of the room. Then poked his head back in the doorway a few seconds later.

"You sure you won't come with us?" he asked timidly. Jumba was still chuckling to himself.

"Eh, fine. I will join family." He said with good humor. His bad mood seemed banished. He hadn't laughed like that in a long time.

The beach trip went much like he had predicted, except with him participating instead of watching from the sidelines. He had fun playing 'secret agent' with Lilo and 626, where their sole mission was to get the sun-bathing Nani and Pleakley wet and covered in sand. When Nani scolded Lilo for ruining her 'relaxing time', Jumba defended the little girl.

"Is my fault, am bad influence!"

Not wanting to deal with the older girl's anger in the house later, however, he led Lilo and 626 back to the water and suggested they leave the sunbathers alone for now.

"Bah, they are just not knowing how to have fun!"

Truthfully, Jumba didn't understand the benefits of 'relaxing' to relieve stress. He doubted he was truly designed for such a thing. When he was suffering from negativity, he needed to burn it off somehow, not sleep it away. So he played with the child, and swam in the water.

Everyone returned home, and took turns rinsing the salt and sand from their bodies. Pleakley made dinner, and Lilo watched old movie specials with Stitch until Nani ushered the two of them up to bed. Nani went to bed soon after, complaining about work the next day. Jumba put his things away, so no one would get into anything dangerous or delicate. Pleakley cleaned the dishes and tidied up the living room.

Jumba was already settling into the top bunk when Pleakley came in the room to get dressed for bed. The Quelt put his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling again, thinking. But the thoughts didn't fill him with a sense of foreboding.

"Jumba?" Pleakley's voice flitted up to him in the dark.

"Hm?"

"You did really nice at the beach today. I think Lilo had a lot of fun."

"Yes…Am feeling glad, that you dragged my lazy patooki out of lab."

"Well, I'm glad that you're glad."

Jumba chuckled softly at this, and settled down comfortably for sleep. He felt good tonight.

Another nightmare came to him, worse than any of the others before it. Childhood faces from Quelta-Quan suffered agonies in the hot sun of Hawaii. The Ohana died cruel deaths in the frozen shelters of his old home. His beloved laboratory seemed to spring to life against him, machine and experiment alike intent on his dismemberment and subsequent dissection. Foolish creations then, cannibalized one another and the survivors were swiftly terminated by members of the Federation.

That warm tone was speaking to him again, as he curled up bitterly, wondering why he wasn't dead yet. Maybe he was. Maybe it was his mother, happy to see him again. Maybe it was planet of Quelta-Quan, praising him for his bravery, telling him not to be ashamed…

The tone turned to one of worry. He felt light, ticklish strokes on his ears. He growled in confusion, and then slowly blinked his eyes open, out of sync.

"Jumba!…Hey." Pleakley was hovering over him, slim hands resting on his shoulders, fingers nervously petting the sides of his face. Jumba wondered which of them the action was meant to comfort, and if the Plorg even realized what he was doing.

The Quelt shifted away and then sat up, looking over to see Pleakley clinging to the wooden frame of the top bunk with his feet. He hadn't even bothered to use the ladder. Pleakley blinked at him nervously.

"Nightmare?"

"….Yeah."

The Plorg paused to watch him for a moment, looking like the kid in class who had a burning question, but was afraid to ask it.

"Was I screaming?" Jumba asked half-jokingly, with an uncertain smile.

"No."

"Oh. Good. Would not be wanting to wake entire household."

"You were crying." Pleakley said this very softly and gently, as if he hoped the larger alien wouldn't hear him. His concern for the other was just barely overriding his fear of making Jumba angry, and he cowered slightly.

Jumba regarded him for a minute, bearing an eerily calm and unreadable expression. Then he studied one of his paw-like hands for a second, and touched his face, checking for any wet residue. He could honestly count the number of times he remembered crying in his entire life on one set of digits.

"Appears that way…" he said distantly, rubbing a bit of moisture between finger and thumb.

"Can I ask why…?"

"Was bad dream." Jumba said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and shrugged his shoulders. He laid back down again, and pulled the covers back up to his stomach, resting his hands there.

Pleakley finally climbed over the frame and into the bed, cautious but insistent. He copied Jumba's position, laying down next to him and clasping his hands together over his waist. He didn't say anything, just joined his friend in staring up at the ceiling that suddenly seemed so interesting.

They stayed that way for a long time, until Pleakley began to think maybe he would just fall asleep there. If Jumba was assaulted again by his own brain during slumber, Pleakley would be there to rescue him from the perils of dreamland.

"I do not think…You should be sleeping here. Do not want to be squishing you, my little one." Jumba said finally, turning his head to look at the other. Pleakley mumbled an affirmative and climbed back down into his own bunk. Jumba heard the sounds of deep-sleep breathing within seconds, and peered over the side of his bed to look at the Plorgonarian, curled tightly around his pillow.

Months went by, and things were normal again. Jumba would pull in close to his Ohana, and then turn and hold them at arm's length, as if realizing he had made a mistake.

One morning, Pleakley was making breakfast for the family, and his phone rang. He set down a plate of pancakes at the table for Lilo and Stitch to dig into, and went to check on it. Sure enough, the readout told him his mother was calling him.

"Well good morning, mother!" he greeted cheerfully after pressing the necessary button.

The face that appeared on the little video screen was off somehow. He was used to his mother looking concerned, but in a 'Have you been eating?' kind of way. This older female looked positively frightened, as if merely speaking would rain doom upon her.

"Wendy!…Are…Are you alone?" she whispered, placing nervous fingers to her lips.

"Well…I'm at home. So no, not really." Pleakley blinked at her in puzzlement.

"Honey, you have to get out of there! You need to get away from _him_!"

"What? What's going on? Who's him?"

"Oh dear, I _knew_ you wouldn't be checking the news feeds on that backwater!"

"Mom, what-"

"That Jookiba-person is a monster! The Federation is going to be putting him on trial for murder! Oh Wendy, you should have seen the families! They-" his mother's eye was tearing up, but Pleakley didn't notice, he'd already dropped the phone.

He heard her voice filtered through the tiny speakers, shrieking at him in panic. Chair legs scraped against tile as people in the kitchen got up to see what was going on. He ran past them, out the front door.

Jumba had gone out to the ship, needing special tools to fix the little hover car Stitch had accidentally run into a large tree. Pleakley had a sudden vision of the ship taking off without him, wondering frantically if Jumba had known this was coming. He was trying desperately not to trip over his own feet.

"JUMBA! Jumba have you seen the Federation newsfeeds?! Do you know anything about this? Jumbaaa-ha-ha!!" Pleakley wailed as he shoved open the entry-door to the ship and went speeding down the hall toward the lab. He turned a corner and ran directly into Jumba's chest, the larger alien having heard him coming.

Jumba steadied the hysterical Plorg with one hand and pulled off his work-goggles with the other. Pleakley was crying now, fingers clutching Jumba's lab-coat.

"What is matter, Pleakley? Be calming yourself!" he truly had no idea what was going on.

"My mom called, and-and Federation! Murder trial! And you…" he trailed off, and just stared imploringly at his friend.

Outside, they both heard a high-pitched scream that could only belong to Lilo. Next came plasma blasts, the sound of something breaking, and wood splintering. They ran to the entryway, and were stopped before they got more than a few feet outside.

Lilo was being restrained by Nani, who was trying to apologize fearfully to a Federation police officer who happened to be picking the fragments of a ceramic dinner plate out of his hide. Stitch was surrounded by more officers, growling and snapping at them as they held him at gun-point.

Directly in front of Jumba and Pleakley was a small troupe of more heavily-armed officers, Cobra Bubbles, and the Council-woman. Everyone looked fierce, save Cobra, who simply looked grim. The Council-woman spoke, in a voice like the sentence of a cold machine.

"Mister Jumba Jookiba, the Federation will be taking you into custody, in light of recent evidence and charges of murder against you. You will be given a public trial. Your family and friends may attend."


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N: Warning people; long chapter is LONG. _; It kinda just...ran away without me. XD Also, I'm taking some creative liberties with Quelta-Quanian culture here....and I believe it is this chapter that deserves the M rating, but I'm not sure. I'd personally consider it teen, but just to be safe...)**

He was standing before the council again. How many years had it been? It seemed like ages ago, when he had first been there, trying to deny his illegal activities. The evidence against him had been too much, and he had swiftly begun plotting his means of escape. He even took decorations from the box of things they had given him, salvaged from the lab, and had pictures plastered on his cell walls within minutes.

He had passed off an air of confidence, casually settling into his new confines. Realistically, it was just a coping mechanism. There had been fear there, so real he wouldn't admit it even to himself. Thinking his life was over at that point, he'd wanted to be remembered as a person to command respect, not a cowering buffoon.

Now, he managed to display an aura of calm, but internal anxiety was not as easy to banish. Not nearly as easy as it had been the first time. Back then he had been completely reckless, angry, with little to lose. Now, he was feeling cheated.

He had been doing so much thinking, the past few months he had been living with the Ohana. So many tiny battles had been waged in his head. He had been thinking about the little girl always calling him 'uncle'. He had been thinking about Pleakley, always there for him, always managing to forgive him for the insults and angry moments. He had been thinking about 626, growing on his own, developing an emotional intelligence beyond that of his creator.

But he had also been thinking other thoughts, darker ones. He had been thinking about his desire to be infamous, remembered even after death. Hiding his life away on a backwater paradise seemed far too much like giving up. He hadn't been gifted with genius simply to waste it away on pleasantries and making advanced toys for children.

In a way, he had felt like being on Earth was still a prison sentence in itself. He wasn't in a cell, but he still wasn't free. The humans had their planet, their entire race to keep them company. Pleakley could always go back to his home planet, or to another Federation job, if he so pleased. 626 was perfectly comfortable in his adoptive family, never having had the experience of growing up with a family of blood-relatives in the first place. Even then, hundreds of Jumba's other projects were now available for 626 to bond with as family.

He had an inkling of what the charges could be caused by, but he was hoping that it was all just blackmail by an enemy. After all, why would someone step forward now, to prosecute him for something that had happened so long ago? Who would _want_ to prosecute him for that?

This trial was much larger than the first. Though whether it was from an increased severity of crime, or simply from his former publicity, he couldn't be sure. The Ohana were sitting in the stands. They were placed as his advocates, and so their faces were captured onto a large video-screen the entire procession could see. He could also see Pleakley's family off to the side of the screen, whispering 'I told you so's' to his little friend, no doubt.

A tone sounded, and Jumba looked over to see his accusers walking in through the appropriate entrance. His pupils dilated for a brief second, but otherwise he remained silent and unreadable. He recognized the species that filed in a row to their reserved seats, and it appeared his hope of false-accusations had been crushed underfoot.

They too, were centered on another large screen, and he took a moment to study their features. They were squat, green reptilians with beady black eyes and fanned ears. Their movements were almost bird-like, as they cocked their heads in quick twitches to look at their surroundings, and down at him. He could see several adults with distinctive tattooed markings and also some young ones peering curiously at him from the short wall closing them into their seating area.

It was time for the trial to start officially. The Council-woman gave him a brief glance of distaste, and then strode out to the center of the floor to announce the proceedings to the audience. Additional screens displayed her face to onlookers on each tier of seating.

"A mister Jumba Jookiba, is accused of murder by the families of over twenty previous heads of household, and five older offspring of the same families. Authorities have gathered documentation and records estimating these crimes to have occurred…Forty-One cycles ago." the tall female held an expression of skepticism and surprise as she read out the last part. She looked around at the prosecutors, at Jumba, and then back at her readout again. She paused a moment, and then continued on.

"Under normal circumstances, such a long period of time would negate a serious trial, and evidence against the accused would result in monetary compensation. However, it is the opinion of this court, that the financial and emotional damages of the victim's families is cause for serious trial."

The finer hairs on Jumba's body were beginning to stand on end, and he pursed his mouth into a thin line. He was a bottle of rage and worry, a guilty sentence on a 'serious' trial could mean life imprisonment or termination. He suppressed the urge to ask about his own emotional damages. He would get to that later, he hoped.

"Jumba Jookiba, how do you plead?"

Jumba paused a moment to consider this.

"Guilty…" There was an audible murmur from the crowd.

"Aand, NOT guilty." he added, smirking a bit. The Council-woman gave him a withering look.

"You must choose one of the other, Mister Jookiba. Not both."

"No, I must not. Where is so-called evidence?"

"Eye-witness accounts of other merchants of the same time period, occupying the same space of land on your native planet of Quelta-Quan. Several members of your race who also lived in the area, have confirmed that you were living there at the time, and that you committed violent acts against visiting merchants. Also, a federation scope of the area found remnants of your DNA, along with that of the victims. The victim's bodies were discovered buried under the ice, not far from your original living area. Autopsy reports indicated the victims suffered from severe burns, broken bones, and fatal lacerations. A sample of genetic residue from claw and teeth marks on one of the victims, matches your DNA signature."

So they had that much evidence. Jumba understood now why the woman had cut straight to the chase on his confession, instead of holding a debate over the possible proof. He almost let out a humorless laugh, knowing that his own people were selling him out. Not that he was surprised at all, but he made a mental note to find some way to send them an unpleasant 'gift'.

"I claim self-defense." he said, without skipping a beat.

"Self-defense? Against twenty-five plus estimated people?" her tone was haughty, disgusted.

"Yes."

If the Council-woman had a nose, she would have wrinkled it. She sighed and shook her head.

"Due to the overwhelming amount of evidence, and the _absurdity_ of Mister Jookiba's claim, the court will now decide-"

"WAIT! Waiting one minute!" Jumba bellowed, leaning out of his confines a bit. The Council-woman paused and raised a brow-ridge at him.

"I am willing, no, INSISTING, to being put on memory scan! For to be presenting proof of self-defense claim!" Anger and desperate energy had made his accent thicker than usual.

The crowd was taken aback. It had long been concluded by scientists that memory scans were a flawed means of procuring evidence, since a certain percentage of a person's memory was fabricated, and those with particularly strong minds could supply the machine with false memories.

However, it was also true that true memories were bound to be seen and reviewed by the technicians, and laying one's mind open so fully to even one person was considered very brave.

This was a public trial with millions of spectators, and if the scan was done during this trial, every single one of them would be able to glimpse Jumba's memories on their video screens. This trial would also go on public record. Feasibly every member of the Galactic Federation could get their hands on a recording.

There was a time when Jumba would never have considered this route. Memories were such a personal thing, a possession that was once thought to be impossible to steal. At this point though, it seemed like a win-win situation. If his memories swayed the court, then he could go back to a somewhat pleasant exile on Earth. If he was still considered guilty, well…He would certainly be remembered.

"We will grant your request…Mister Jookiba." the female was clearly shocked, but intrigued.

A few minutes passed while equipment was called onto the platform and technicians were summoned to attend the trial. Jumba spared a glance at the screens, noting his accusers talking animatedly among themselves.

The Ohana was watching everything that was going on. Lilo had been transferred to Nani's lap for emotional support. Stitch was looking around at everything with a fierce intensity. Pleakley looked like he was in awe, and was ignoring his mother's chatter.

Jumba began to regret his decision. Even though this might help his case, for his little broken family to see the carnage that was in his memory was sure to shock them. Especially the little girl. If he had been able, he would have warned Nani to cover her sister's eyes.

The device that was brought over was large, bulky, and thrumming with a considerate amount of energy. Jumba surmised that it hadn't been used for a long time, for the Federation to still be using such a clunky design. In his head, he started calculating ways to reduce the size and power consumption of the device, streamline the design perhaps…

He blinked himself out of that train of thought, and tried catching the Council-woman's eyes instead. She tilted her head up slightly in question. Small, various-species technicians were busy setting up the machine and centering the reader over his skull.

"Eh…Could I be making one more request?"

When she didn't respond, but simply stood about ten feet away listening, he jerked his head a little to indicate she should come closer. The tall alien blinked at him and then stepped closer with a constant grace in her movements. Jumba lowered his voice to a whisper.

"When council is to be deciding verdict…Could I be speaking privately with Earth family? May need to be saying goodbyes…"

The Council-woman studied him for a moment, then gave him a silent nod and turned away to move back to the center of the floor.

The lights in the court dimmed, to draw attention to the lit view-screens. There were three technicians. One to mind the machine itself, another to record events for playback, and the last to maneuver through the pathways of Jumba's brain via a control panel.

Lights on the reader glowed to life, and the powered hum of the machine changed in pitch. Jumba could feel something tugging at him, trying to open him up. He resisted it at first, in much the same fashion he resisted any unpleasant memory that tried to surface to the front of his thinking. Those memories were going to come out of him eventually, even if it took the technicians hours of scrolling through other memories to find them.

He would much rather they took a peek at the relevant information and then left the rest of his thoughts alone, so he stopped fighting and instead concentrated on the memories, trying to guide the technicians to the appropriate place.

Once he summoned a memory of the right place and time, it was like an anchor had been lodged in his brain, and he couldn't steer away from it. His awareness of his surroundings dimmed, though he tried to fight this as well. He had a sudden feeling of panic, thinking that this was a nightmare he may never wake up from, as he found himself increasingly immersed in that time and place. The present day faded as the past became bolder, until he felt he was reliving it all again.

****

It was a dark place, but there was a certain glow to it. Two small hands were submerged in a pool of water, chubby fingers chasing after bio-luminescent creatures that flitted and swam through the liquid. Some of the braver life-forms returned the finger-chase, and clamped down on the child's flesh with their tiny mouths. Jumba laughed at them. Their little fangs couldn't pierce his thick hide.

Sitting beside him in the cavern pool, his mother scolded him affectionately.

_Voices spoke, in a language he had yet to learn, seemingly out of thin air. The only word that he recognized was "Quelta-Quan". He was puzzled, but for some reason neglected to ask his mother about it, and she didn't seem to be able to hear the voices anyway. This was even stranger, for they seemed to speak every time she did, as if mimicking her in a different language._

"If you chase them away, my little one, you won't get clean. We don't sit in the water just to absorb it." his mother explained, dipping a larger hand beside his and petting one of the creatures that was gnawing futilely at her son's fingers. The thing released Jumba and then swam around this new appendage curiously. Jumba made a rude noise with his tongue.

"Why should I let them eat off of me? I'm not a feast to be laid out for them!"

_The voices mimicked him this time. He found it perplexing, but was too caught up in the moment to pursue it beyond a flickering thought._

"Because if you don't, this pool will turn to muck, and then there will be nothing for _you_ to feast on." she said with a patient smile.

Jumba took a moment to digest this new information, and then copied his mother in petting the creatures along their wriggly spines. Within seconds, schools of them closed in on him and began nibbling at his skin, searching for dead cells and surface minerals that were not supplied to them by the cavern. He squirmed a bit uncomfortably. They were aiming for every nook and cranny of him, and he was ticklish.

"Ha! You see? Look how dirty you've gotten! They seem to think your very tasty." his mother teased, chuckling at her child's predicament.

Then there was a bright flash, followed by a high-pitched shot of sound, and then something hissing outside the cave. Mother and child sat in the pool for a few moments, eight eyes fixated on that small hole of light that marked the entrance to the surface. Ever-curious, Jumba bolted out of the water and scrambled on all-fours up the well-trodden path before his mother's warning could reach him.

He peered over the lip of the cave entrance, blinking at the expanse of white and blue that greeted him. The hissing sound was dying down a bit, and he looked around until he saw what looked like vapor rising into the air. That much vapor? On the surface?

He had only seen vapor on the surface when he had chosen to relieve himself, against his mother's advice, onto a patch of ice. His feet had gotten stuck to the ground after that, much to the amusement of the rest of his clan. He could laugh about it now.

His mother caught up to him and looked out as well, displeased with what she saw. She grabbed him by the loose skin between his shoulders and tugged him back into the cave.

"We should get dressed, little one."

Time shifted, white spaces and purple-tinted forms sped past him in a blur. He wished he could grab them and slow them down, take a moment to really look at them.

His world stopped moving. There was a large gathering inside another cavern, the largest one he could remember. All clan members. An elder picked up two pieces of colored stone and struck them together over a large slab of rock. There was a spark, and then fire. Jumba could see the outline of a clan member he couldn't remember, lying still on the slab, flames eating at them. He wished he could remember that person. It was strange that being unable to remember made him sad, when it should have been the person's death that upset him.

Another shift.

He was crouched behind a formation in that same large cavern, eavesdropping on the conversation of a group of adult males, and a few gruff-looking females as well.

"We're larger and stronger than they are. They'll eventually give in to Quelta's intimidation. We'll just keep pressing them. They can only take so many bruises." said one male, others grunted in agreement.

Another shift.

His hands on his knees, a little bit bigger now. His voice was no longer childish and prone to giggling. Other children were sitting around behind a snow bank on the surface. The adults were looking for a new cavern to keep them away from danger. He remembered his father saying something about asking a favor of one of the other clans.

"What do they want?" one of the cubs was saying.

"My papa said Quelta sent them to test us." said another.

"Somebody must have done something really, really bad then…" a third chimed in, hands on his cheeks in an expression of anxiety. Jumba snorted loudly through his nose and shook his head like a dog, ruffling his ears.

"No. They just want the rocks from our caves. I saw them take a bunch from our old home." he ground a chunk of ice under his shoe as he said this. The cubs looked at him skeptically.

"That's stupid. Why would anyone kill over a bunch of cave-rocks? There're tons of 'em!"

"Yeah! It's gotta be Quelta's will! My papa said so!"

Jumba growled at them, standing up and looming overhead. He was older after all. And smarter. He summoned Quelta's intimidation to aide him in teaching the ignorant.

"The elder teaches us that Quelta loves all living things. The life-giver wouldn't send strangers to kill us, she'd have us learn our mistakes through living. The dead may not learn or suffer." he spoke very articulately for a child his age, paraphrasing the elder's sermons.

He was always asking that poor old Quelt so many questions, he had to know everything. He was taught that there was a reason for everything, he just needed to know what that reason was.

_The strange language was still echoing all who spoke, but he was learning to ignore it. It wasn't important. This moment, right now, that was everything._

One of the cubs stood up and spread his arms at his sides in challenge. He wanted to relieve tension by engaging Jumba in a wrestling bout. The cub was younger, but about the same size as him. He'd be a larger male than Jumba when they grew up, they could guess.

Jumba would have been happy to oblige him, glad that someone was willing to play even in this atmosphere, but one of those sharp shots rang out and sizzled it's way through the snow bank.

There was a deafening pause, while Jumba thought about taking the initiative and leading the cubs away. Before any of them could move, however, an adult Quelt burst through the snow and shoved a few of them forward with his large arms.

Another shift.

They were all huddled together, in a very small, very dark cavern space. Surely the green-skins wouldn't be interested in whatever small rocks were in this cave. It was just a few cubs and their mothers, clinging together in sleep.

Jumba was wide awake, ears moving to catch any sound other than snoring, and all four eyes peered out into the dark. He'd decided that having everyone sleep at the same time was a bad idea, even though it was family custom. Given the situation, his mother never scolded him when he would nap while the other children were playing. She worried that he might be getting sick.

He wondered where the other clan were. The group hadn't seen them in days, though he was certain he heard them fighting the green-skins sometimes, in the distance.

He heard a muffled whimper as one of the cubs woke up. The mother cuddled it, gently nibbling the top of the child's head in affection.

"Mother, what happens when we die?"

"Quelta uses us to give more life. Don't worry little one, you're such a good girl. When your time comes, I'm sure Quelta will make you into something beautiful. Maybe your favorite beautiful thing."

Jumba couldn't see them very well in the dark, but he stared in their general direction. He suppressed an angry noise, as the sounds of sleep reigned over the space again. He wished he could take comfort in something like that, but the idea filled him with burning, negative energy at the same time.

Another shift.

They were walking in the snow. The mothers had agreed to press forward, to seek shelter with one of the other clans. They might be willing to wait for there husbands return, but they weren't about to make the children wait. The cubs were playing near a large slab of ice they happened to be passing, the reflective surface distorting their bodies into impossible shapes. Jumba envied them, but kept alert and moving.

A shot penetrated the slab with an ugly green light, making the entire sheet of ice glow for a split second. The cubs screamed and ran. None too soon, as dozens of plasma blasts quickly turned the slab into a shattered and crumbling natural mirror.

The group of them barreled along the path on all-fours. Running on two feet would be too slow. One of the women yelled out 'cave!' and instantly became the leader. They all filed into the cavern, and the mothers worked together to close up the entrance with ice and rocks.

All assembled swiveled their ears to listen to the sounds of feet crunching outside. The sound passed over them and then died away. A few minutes later, as the group was discussing hiding until nightfall, there was a scuffling sound near the base of the newly-formed wall, and a small figure broke through the ice and stepped inside the cave.

Jumba's mother was nearest the wall, and for a moment he was seized with panic. The reptilian aimed a blaster at her and pressed the trigger. The gun made a sickly noise at him and refused to shoot. The alien shrilled angrily and started brushing off ice that had formed on it.

Jumba was ready to be the brave one and shove the intruder into the wall, to hopefully disarm him, but then his mother did something none of them would ever have expected. She grabbed a rock about the size of her own head and brought it down with all her strength, letting out a roar of anger.

Blue-ish blood splattered against the cave walls and on his mother's face, right before his eyes. The thing had been wearing a jumpsuit to protect it from the cold. He could see a glove sticking out from underneath the rock, curling up and stiffening.

There was a tense moment of silence, and then one of the cubs started bawling.

Another shift.

They were walking again, this time in the dim light of dusk. The weather was a little windier than usual. One female had commented that it was a blessing, as it would make them less visible.

The rest of the group were keeping a clear distance between he and his mother. The only living creature the spiritual killed were those to be eaten, and even then only when a cavern pool could not be found. She was to be shunned.

At one point, one of the women tried to tug him into the rest of the group, away from her. He had looked back to see her trudging slowly along, looking sad, but doing nothing to stop the separation. He kept looking back as they all continued walking, seeing that she was still following. She didn't seem to be able to look at him, even to give him a reassuring smile.

He slowed to a stop as his young mind had a revelation. He glanced up at the female who had pulled him away, who was walking close to him, bumping shoulders with him from time-to-time. She stopped after he did and then put a maternal arm around his shoulder to coax him along again.

Jumba had a sudden flash of anger, and shoved the woman away from him. How dare she try to claim him as her own! His _real_ mother was brave, pure, and didn't deserve to be abandoned. This female was just a spineless coward who would sooner let her own children die than get her hands dirty.

He let out a strangled noise and pelted back to his mother, running straight into her stomach and growling demands for affection. Her arms were shaky but she complied, nuzzling his head and embracing him.

He saw flashes of green reflecting inside the billowing clouds of snow the wind had kicked up, and started pulling his mother along before he heard the sharp sound, like thunder after lightning.

The next few minutes were a muddle of cold confusion. He couldn't see anything, save flashes of light that appeared as blankets of red to eyes squeezed shut against wind and ice. He kept pushing forward, stumbling in the snow, tugging his mother with him. His limbs started to go numb.

He stepped into a dip in the ground and sank into it, kicking out some of the snow to build himself a hollow to curl up in. He stopped to face his mother, to let her know that she could let go of his paw. Two extra hands would make the digging go faster.

The wind died down a bit and he blinked his eyes to rid them of frost. There was no one around him. He looked down at his hand and saw a thick clump of ice stuck there. He must have picked some of it up when he faltered, sweaty palms gluing the substance to him.

Jumba howled out at the empty air, but the wind swallowed the sound and pelted him with hail. He buried himself in the hollow and let the snow drift over him, shaking with cold and uncertainty.

Another shift.

It was bright outside. Clear and sunny. Jumba could tell by the yellow glow hitting his rightmost eye. He burst out from the snow bank with a small battle cry, looking around and tensing for danger.

It was completely silent. He sucked in a breath and started loping up the hill. At the top he shielded his eyes with both hands and peered out into the distance for signs of anything marring the white landscape. He was rewarded with a group of small dots moving about, and one very large dark form.

No Quelt was as big as that largest shape, and there was vapor rising from the area. Jumba sunk low and made his way closer, carefully. As he neared, he could see patches of color on the ground, twisted up, like someone had dug deeper than the snow and then pulled the ground out with a giant fist.

He could see it clearly now, and he jerked in his step, making extra effort to hide himself behind piles of snow. The green-skins were there, and the large object glinted darkly in the sun, the color of nightfall without stars.

He heard the crunch of footsteps, much too close, and scrambled into one of those torn-up patches. It was like a cavern, but with no luminescent stones, no pools, no rock formations. It looked like all of those things had been hacked into nothing.

He touched one of the walls to steady himself, and pulled his hand away to see he'd left a print. His palm was covered in black dust. He sniffed at it. It smelled like what the heat-rocks in the old clan cave left behind. What they used to dye their clothes, to draw more warmth from the sun.

Jumba stepped forward and something crunched under his foot, but it was somehow different from the crunch of snow or ice. A stench hit him square in the face, and he gagged from it. It smelled like the clan funerals, the smell of burnt hair and flesh. Except somehow it was much, much more intense.

He examined the area around his feet more closely, covering his nose with one arm and prodding around with his free hand. It was a lump of something black and crumbly. He poked at it a little harder and his finger sunk through until it hit something hard. He picked it up and chunks of the black stuff fell away, revealing something pale grey and curved.

It reminded him of one season when a pool had dried up. The swimming creatures had all died. Their flesh shrank away and they left behind pale white innards that stuck sharply out of their sides. One of the women had collected the white pieces and made jewelry from them.

Jumba looked up and promptly dropped the object. Directly in front of him was a large pile of charred-shapes. Large, rounded shapes, not all them burned. He felt over a patch that wasn't as dark. Strands of something came out and he stared at them in his hand. They were peach-colored…Like under-belly hair. He tilted his paw slowly and let them fall, perplexed.

It took him a few moments, despite his intelligence, to register what all the pieces meant. It was like the world had split itself, removed itself from him somehow. He didn't feel anything at first. Logic was there, but emotion had yet to catch up.

Then he saw a face. There was suddenly a person to attach to the carcass. Some of the bodies were smaller than others. Then it struck him, with more force than he would have thought possible, enough force to make him feel that he was physically sick and on fire at the same time.

He bellowed his rage at the top of his lungs. A few seconds later one of the green-skins leapt into his view, brandishing a weapon and hissing. Jumba didn't think about the danger, just took action. He copied his mother, and attacked the reptile with a soot-covered stone.

This one was bigger and more skilled however, and it blocked him with it's blaster. He switched tactics and kicked it in the stomach, then grabbed it's face and shoved with all his might. He ended up standing on top of the creature, which was stunned from the impact of it's skull hitting the rough ground.

His weight was centered on top of the reptile's ribcage, slowly crushing it while it lay there paralyzed. He wrenched the blaster out of it's grip, and examined it, unsure how to use the device. He would figure that out later, for now he simply struck his enemy with it repeatedly to vent his negative energy.

Eventually he stood up and nudged at the body with his newly-acquired gun. It was limp and unresponsive, not even any post-mortem twitches to be seen. The budding, knowledge-hungry side of him took over, and he looked the green-skin over in more detail.

He was puzzled. These things had caused so much trouble for his clan, and he couldn't even be sure how much of his family was dead, yet the creatures looked so delicate.

The clothing the green-skin wore was warm, and vibrated under his touch, but the pebbled skin of the being was very cold. It's body was thin and pointy in places, and it had no hair. Jumba had only seen hair-less creatures in the caverns, where it was always warm and safe from the wind outside.

Could it be that they were immune to Quelta's intimidation? Any other creature would have left them alone after being shoved around enough, after they were made to feel fear.

Jumba quietly said a faltering funeral rite to the deceased, even the green-skin, struggling to remember the words the elder used. He then apologized privately to Quelta, for breaking taboo and being unable to give his clan proper honors.

Another shift.

He was sitting cross-legged behind a small snow bank, perched on a cliff over-looking the green-skins who had been removing cave-rocks from the area for days. The blaster was in his lap, and his hands were on his knees.

He had just finished eating de-hydrated packets of food he had swiped from their camp, feeling justified in the act, since every cavern pool he knew of had been obliterated by them in their search for rocks. His shirt was sitting on the ground beside him, filled to the brim with large heat rocks.

He had spent almost a week sneaking in and out of their camp, grabbing useful items and watching them to learn how their tools worked. Now Jumba was staring down at the blaster, rolling logic, spirituality, and emotions around in his head.

He remembered scoffing at the idea that Quelta was testing them, and he wondered how much truth the dead cub's words may have held. To kill for any reason other than to eat was impure, yet he somehow doubted that Quelta wanted them to surrender to the viciousness of the green-skins.

They had killed for cave-rocks. ROCKS! He couldn't get over the idea. These creatures were not Quelta's children, and they were stealing from her. Quelta was the great mother, the life-giver, lover of all living-things…But he was not Quelta. He was Quelta-Quan, life-giver's child.

He thought about his first encounter with a green-skin, how he had been ready to leap to his mother's defense. She had shielded him all this time, made sacrifices for him. It seemed as if now Quelta herself was shielding him, in his blood-mother's absence. If he had abandoned his mother, joined the group, he would surely have perished in that wound-in-the-ground with the rest of them.

Jumba sucked in a breath, feeling clarity filter into his mind. Quelta-Quan was the great mother, and he wasn't about to abandon her. He would sacrifice his purity to stop these monsters from tearing her to pieces, just like his blood-mother had done for him.

He gripped the blaster and fiddled with the controls, he'd memorized the movements the green-skins used to charge the weapon and turn it on. He didn't have much practice aiming, but all he really needed was to cause panic.

He aimed at the furthest point, for the large, black machine. He had learned that the longer you held the charge, the further and more powerful the shot was. The gun started out at a low hum, he waited until it climbed into a high-pitched whine that hurt his ears before releasing the charge and firing.

The force of it drove him back a few feet, he lost his balance and fell on his rump. He cringed at the noise it made, shook his head to clear it and crawled back up to the snow-bank to look at the scene below.

There were many shouts of alarm, and most of the reptiles scrambled away from the black machine. It tilted and slowly tipped over, creaking painfully. Jumba found himself grinning, with wide eyes, waiting for the thing to crash. Directly below it lay containers full of cave-rocks.

Something tore a gash in the machine as it collapsed, the next moment, there was a fiery explosion that consumed half the camp. Jumba let out a delighted cry of victory, almost brought to laughter.

Some of the green-skins managed to escape to Jumba's area, near the beginning of a procession line of cave-rock containers. He grabbed two heat-rocks from his shirt-bag and struck them together over his head, just like the elder used to do at ceremonies. They started to grow hot immediately, and he quickly threw them down into the torn-up hole the reptiles had been working in.

Another explosion sounded, but it was much smaller. Then another one. And another. The rocks inside the gutted cavern caught one another and burst in a chain going both out and inside the space.

"You want rocks?! Here! Have more!" Jumba hollered down at them, not really caring at this point if his cover was blown. He struck more of his arsenal together and lobbed pairs of stones at the remaining rock-containers, raining natural bombs down upon his enemies.

By the time he was finished, he had the blaster clutched against his bare chest, watching the vapor from melted snow rising into the air. At first he started laughing, but it gradually dissolved into quiet sobs.

The place was deathly quiet, and he waited for the steam to clear before climbing his way down into the camp. He walked cautiously through the area, aiming the blaster around with one hand, and rubbing tears out of his eyes with the other.

Charred bodies and melted suits greeted his vision, some of them with their jaws hanging open, others lying in awkward positions. Most of the snow and ice had vanished from the spot, leaving behind a mire of muddy ground and stone.

He stayed there the rest of the day, saying awkward funeral rites. Not because he wanted to, but because it was polite and respectful to the deceased. It was the least he could do to appeal to Quelta. When he was finished, he gathered his shirt into a make-shift gun-sling and walked away.

Jumba lamented the impossibility of making anything to mark the site where the mothers and their cubs had died. Where _his_ mother had died. Anything he tried would quickly be covered up with ice and snow. The dead always became a part of Quelta in this way. He felt a small amount of satisfaction knowing that even Quelta's attackers would be used to create more of her children.

Suddenly he felt something strike him in the back, and a rapid beeping sounded from his blaster. He looked down to see a sharp, curved blade sticking through his shirt and buried into the gun. He whirled around to look behind him and saw a green-skin, backing away quickly, most of it's clothing melted away.

Jumba managed to put two and two together and hurled shirt and weapon away from himself, shielding his face when it exploded mid-air. He didn't have enough time to recover before the reptile tackled him and began clawing at his back, the talons sharp enough to cut bright pink lines through his baby-down hair.

He howled in pain and rolled, trying to use his weight to his advantage. The thing hissed and bit him instead, shaking the patch of shoulder it had sunk it's teeth into viciously. Jumba kept trying, but all the wrestling techniques his clan had taught him were not helping. This opponent wasn't aiming to let off steam, it was aiming to kill him.

This creature wasn't part of Quelta, it wasn't going to play by Quelta's rules. His clan had always taught him to use his palms in a fight, to minimize injury. He ended up on his back, with the green-skin lunging at his face, and he decided to use his nails for once. He swatted it across the face, flinging it off of him and marking the reptile's thinner skin with three lines of blue.

He picked himself up and tackled his opponent, sending both of them tumbling down an icy slope. They both lashed at each other as they went, desperately clawing and biting. When they landed at the bottom of the hill, the green-skin changed tactics and went for Jumba's legs with fang and claw, trying to hinder his ability to move.

Jumba grabbed the other and bit down on the creature's exposed back, feeling something crunch between his still-growing tusks. The green-skin screamed and spasmed violently as it's spine was fractured by wide, strong jaws.

He let go and stared down at the other creature, staring back at him with pained, hateful eyes. He felt himself developing a small amount of respect for it. The reptile and it's kind didn't seem to know fear.

Jumba buried it alive, in the snow, figuring that at least the cold would numb it's pain until it eventually died. He couldn't bring himself to touch it, couldn't bring himself to end it's life quickly. Still, he sat there for a moment, and recited funerary rights as it's eyes began to glaze over.

He caught his breath, as pink blood dribbled down his back and oozed out his shoulder. He had succeeded in defending what was left of his home, in avenging his clan. Now he wondered what lay in store for him. He didn't know the way to any of the other clan's territories, and even if he did, they would most certainly shun him. He would be very lucky to find a pool, or things to eat, as well.

There was nothing for it but to keep walking.

Another shift.

He'd lost track of time, and distance. It was hard to gauge anything when you were surrounded by miles of snow and ice. He'd been eating snow. Sleeping in snow. He felt light-headed, weak.

He dropped down on his knees and looked up at the sky that was clear and blue. Jumba felt guilt and anguish bubble up inside him, and he spoke out loud to the empty air, to his own dear Quelta.

"I thought you wanted me to defend you…If it was your plan for me to die with my clan, I'm sorry I misunderstood. If I did the wrong thing, please take me. You don't have to make me into anything beautiful, or strong, just…I'm sorry." he didn't know what else to say, so he laid on his back, long scabbed over with crusted blood, and stared up at the sky with tired eyes.

A few minutes later something crunched in the snow beside him, and he cringed a little, thinking it was another green-skin come to avenge it's fallen kin. He didn't move, it was probably best.

"Hey there, little one. What are you doing way out here on the border?" a hand touched him gently, large and rough, but covered in fine purple fuzz.

Jumba blinked slowly and looked up at the newcomer, momentarily confused. The speaker was definitely Quelta-Quanian, but he was wearing clothing that was similar to the kind the green-skins had worn. The large male's speech was also a little strange, understandable, but different somehow.

"I used to live out here with my clan. They're gone now." Jumba answered, feeling dazed.

The other Quelt looked at him strangely for a moment, then nodded, mostly to himself.

"Ah, you must be from one of the old reservation clans. I'm sorry to hear about your immediate family." the larger male scooped Jumba up carefully from the ground, looking at the old wounds.

"I'll take you to have your genetic signature analyzed. You must have extended clan-mates around somewhere. Don't worry, we'll find a place for you…"

Jumba just listened numbly to the sound of another voice, lying limply in someone else's arms. The words the other was saying didn't mean anything to him yet.

_The strange echoes started up again. Only this time they actually seemed to be saying something he understood. He felt that split-world sensation again, and the snowy land started to become less real. The voices got louder, clearer, even though they weren't shouting. _

_****_

Jumba felt something scrape past his ears, being lifted from his head. He could hear many voices murmuring quietly in the background. He blinked his eyes open, out of order, and tried to refocus blurred vision. He saw a tall, hairless figure standing ten feet in front of him, and it took his muddled brain a few, slow seconds to recognize the Council-woman. She looked a bit paler than usual.

"Thank you Mister Jookiba, for presenting the court with evidence of your claim." she said, addressing him directly and politely. She then turned to speak to the rest of the court.

"We will take a brief recess, while the court reviews the presented information of both sides."

She then gestured to a guard and whispered something to him. He glanced at Jumba and then nodded, striding over to the Quelt.

"You may see your earth family now, while the recess is in effect." the guard said to him, and gestured with his arm to the door Jumba had first come in from. Jumba nodded mutely, still trying to form coherent thoughts.

**(Reviews are love guys, seriously. 3)**


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